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Peanut: Seven Months

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It’s my birthday! Yeah! Why am I not in your arms right now? UP! I said UP!

We’ve had another exciting month with Peanut.  I guess every month is exciting when you’re a baby, huh?

The biggest news… I can hardly hold it in, I’m so excited… is that Peanut has been consistently sleeping through the night.  (Oh, man, I hope I didn’t just jinx it.)  We had been waking Peanut up for a 1:00 a.m. dream feed for a couple of months, but once she hit twelve pounds her pediatrician decided she was ready to sleep through the night (and so were we).  We gradually reduced the amount she took in her dream feed until she got down to 50 ml, and then we eliminated the bottle altogether.  We expected a few shenanigans while she adjusted, but – knock wood – she got the message right away and has only woken up during the night once since.  It’s been about two weeks of pure bliss.  I’ve gone into her room a little bit before her 6:00 a.m. bottle and found her awake, just quietly sucking her thumb or examining her pajamas, leading me to believe that if she is waking up in the middle of the night, she’s self-soothing and falling back to sleep on her own.  Seriously.  Miracle.

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I’m well-rested! Are you, Mommy? Don’t get used to it.

Bedtime has been going surprisingly well, too.  Peanut is going through a phase where she can’t really sleep if hubby and I are there – we’re apparently too cool and exciting.  (First time anyone, anywhere, has ever thought that about us.)  If she is in our arms or can see one of us, about 80% of the time, she thinks it’s playtime.  So our routine lately has been the following: I feed her the final bottle of the evening around 7:00 p.m., then I rock her until she’s drowsy, put her in her crib, and putter around her room quietly putting away laundry or cleaning up her toys – just so she knows I’m around if she needs me.  If she fusses, I soothe her in the crib and help her find her thumb to suck.  If not, I kiss her goodnight, tell her to call me if she needs anything, and tiptoe out of the room.  Most nights, that’s the last I hear from her as she just quietly plays in her crib and drops off to sleep within twenty minutes or so – leaving me with a long stretch of free time to read in the evenings, which you can believe I’m enjoying.  I’m not singing or dancing on rooftops about this development, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Peanut, it’s that she is unpredictable at bedtime.  We’ve had other stretches of good bedtime routines that have lulled me into believing we conquered the crib, only to regress in spectacular fashion.  I’m just appreciating it while it lasts.

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Why am I in this chair? Who are you? What is my name?

The other big news of the month is that we officially started solids!  Peanut has been eating sweet potato puree for about two weeks now and just moved on to Mom’s homemade applesauce.  I don’t want to say too much about it right now, since I have a big post planned for next week with lots of pictures and details.  For now, I’ll just tell you that it’s adorable and hilarious, and tease you with this picture (don’t worry, there are plenty more to come):

I can get messier.

I can get messier.

It’s been a great month, but we’ve also had a challenge or two.  Daylight savings time messed Peanut up pretty good, which is to be expected, since it does a number on her parents as well.  Peanut had a few days of rejecting bottles, refusing naps, and shrieking at bedtime, all right around “spring forward.”  Add that to the fact that hubby and I both have trouble sleeping for a few days after a time shift, especially this one, and you have one exhausted family.  We’ve all adjusted by now.

We also had a couple of days of spotty weight gain this month, attributable to the time shift funk and to dropping the dream feed.  It always takes Peanut a few days to understand what’s going on when a feeding is dropped, and we went through the same thing when we eliminated her 3:00 a.m. feeding months ago.  We bump up her food during the day, but it takes her a little longer to get the message and start polishing off bigger bottles to make up for the feeding that was eliminated.  I always get jumpy when weight gain doesn’t happen as quickly as I think it should – even if I know that Peanut is not sick and there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for it – but for the past few days she’s been relatively good about finishing her bottles with a minimum of histrionics.  So I hope we’re over that particular hump.

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I’m Irish, I have green pants, and I’m ready to party. Where’s my green formula?

Peanut at 7 Months:

Adjusted Age: 5 months.

Weight: 13 lbs, 4 oz

Clothing Size: 6 months, although she’s growing out of her wardrobe again.  She has an incredibly long torso, so her Carter’s clothes are still fitting well, since they seem to be cut for longer babies, but some of her other 6 month outfits are starting to pull in the shoulders.

Sleep: See above.  It’s great!  And now that I’ve said that, we’ll get slammed with a long spell of Gitmo-style sleep deprivation.

Likes: Auntie Em’s dog Ezra, who is thrilled that his love for Peanut is no longer unrequited.  She cranes her neck to get a look at him and giggles whenever she sees him.  Ezra is overjoyed.  He throws his toys up in the air, does little tricks, and generally busts his doggie butt trying to impress Peanut.  It’s hilarious.

Dislikes: Her boppy lounger.  She used to enjoy sitting in it to listen to stories, but no more.  It’s too reclined for her current attitude of must-see-the-world-and-be-involved-in-everything and she spends all her time trying to sit up.  (Her little baby abs are so toned with all those crunches.)  We have to sit her in our laps or lay her flat on her back for storytime now.  The in-between is no bueno.

Favorite Toys: We’ve been spending lots of time playing with her linking rings, at the suggestion of the occupational therapists in the NICU development clinic (she got the rings from Santa but we hadn’t used them much before).  She loves passing them from hand to hand and shaking them.  She’s also enjoying her O-ball, again because she can hold it with both hands, and a Fisher Price teething rattle that is shaped like an Elizabeth Taylor-style gigantic diamond ring.  I’m a little concerned about the precedent that sets.

My bling is bigger than Mommy's.

My bling is bigger than Mommy’s.

Milestones: The biggest ones are sleeping through the night and eating solid foods!  We’re also working on sitting upright and creeping, and she’s made some progress toward both but she’s not quite there yet.  Next month, I’ll bet!

Quirks: We’ve started what I call the Stranger Danger phase, where Peanut freaks out at any adult who isn’t hubby, me, or Auntie Em.  And when I say freaks out, I mean freaks out.  We’ve had major meltdowns with “Silence of the Lambs” style screams both when her grandparents visited and tried to hold her (the horror!) and at the NICU development clinic when she sat on my lap facing away from me and could only see the (very friendly) occupational therapist.  I’m told that this is a good thing that she recognizes and prefers her caregivers over other adults, but man, is it ever loud.

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Riding It Out

Hah.

Hah.

It’s still winter.  Still.  Winter.  It’s not as bad here in D.C. as some other places – we’re in the odd in-between season where it will snow one day and be 60 degrees the next (yep, that was Monday and Tuesday of this week) – but notwithstanding all that… it’s still winter.  Still grey, and it snowed (just flurries) on Monday.  There are daffodils poking up along my drive home, and a few early cherry trees starting to adorn themselves, and I’m thinking about starting my annual Claritin regimen, but it’s… still winter.

Winter’s last gasps in the mid-Atlantic region aren’t furious or frigid, just dreary, but we still have to get through them every year.  (As E so poetically put it the other day, “March: in like a lion, out like a lion, acts like a lion all month.”)  And while I’m not looking forward to pollen season, I am looking forward to seeing the back of this entire month of drizzle.  In the meantime, here’s what’s getting me through:

  • Those daffodils on my drive home.  There are more every day.
  • Lavender Earl Grey, brewed in my travel pot at my desk in the mornings.
  • Shopping for an Easter dress.  The dress I wanted is no longer available in my size, so now I’m thinking of a colorful top and skirt combination, maybe.
  • Speaking of Easter, doing some additional shopping on behalf of Sir Bunny for Peanut’s basket this year.  She’s getting lots of board books about bunnies.
  • Really good salads.  Lately I’m loving a combo of mixed greens, chopped red pepper, rolled and chopped cold cuts, a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of smoked sea salt.  And maybe some massaged kale on the side.
  • The strawberry theme Peanut’s wardrobe has going on right now (guess I was having a craving the day I bought her 6-month clothes).
  • Origins Gloomaway body souffle.  But you can’t eat it.
  • Good books.  I’m currently back in Fairyland with September and friends, in The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There.  And it’s winter-almost-spring there too.
  • Big baby smiles and squeals of glee.

What’s keeping you going through the last gasps of winter?

 

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Moving the Ball: Women, Work, and Sports Metaphors

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Hockey: the only sport I care about.

I recently learned a new sports metaphor: “moving the ball forward.”  Oh, I’d heard it before, and I had a vague idea that it meant making progress – or something along those lines – but I didn’t know it was about football.  You can laugh (and you will) but I’m just not a football fan.  (I remain confused about why a game with sixty minutes of playing time should take four hours.  That’s 25% playing, and 75% breaks.  Who has that kind of time?  Think about it.)  Anyway, I just learned this metaphor a few weeks ago and since then I’ve managed to overuse it until it has lost all meaning, because obviously.  I have to be me.

A client and I were joking about this very metaphor – “moving the ball forward” – the other day.  She couldn’t believe I’d only just figured it out, until I explained that I’m a hockey fan and there is no room in my heart for other games.  (Other sports are not nearly violent enough for me, apparently.  I’m very bloodthirsty.)  I bemoaned the fact that there aren’t really any common sports metaphors for the wannabe-Canadians among us and confessed that I’m now on a mission to learn more sports metaphors and overuse them.

The degree to which I am obtuse about sports metaphors is amusing, among other things, but it also raises a more serious point: sports, sports talk, and sports metaphors are a big part of the reason that many women still feel excluded or alienated in their male-dominated workplaces.  I’ve been lucky and escaped feeling excluded, to a large extent.  At my first job, I worked with mostly women, none of whom had much use for sports in general.  (There were a few guys there who were big hockey fans, and we bonded.  They liked the Rangers, but I didn’t hold it against them.  Nobody’s perfect.)  When I left that job and joined my firm, I was the only female attorney in the office (that is no longer the case), but I never felt left out.  The men in my current office are great guys who made me feel welcome right away, and while they’re all big sports fans, they never used sports to exclude me or tease me.

(Well, there was some gentle mocking when I picked Cornell to win March Madness.  But here’s the thing: I’m 4’11” and I can’t relate at all to basketball, so I have never followed it.  I could waste my time doing hours upon hours of research and I’d still be flying blind when it comes to March Madness picks.  I don’t stand a chance of winning.  So I might as well pick my alma mater.  They did make it to the Sweet Sixteen, which I always thought was a party.)

There are times when all-attorney meetings veer onto the subject of baseball, which most of the other attorneys in my office (including the women) follow passionately.  I don’t because, again, I am apparently too bloodthirsty.  (Now, if baseball players were allowed to fight…)  I sometimes tune out of those conversations, but I’m never teased or excluded based on my lack of participation, which says more about the people I work with than it does about me.

Not all of my friends are so lucky.  One of my closest friends, also a lawyer, was cruelly mocked at a business dinner for not being able to recite the rules of football.  She was put on the spot in front of her entire department by her boss, who – knowing she did not follow football – demanded that she explain the game, and then laughed at her when she couldn’t.  An extreme example, perhaps – but then again, perhaps not.  Women can’t be groped in the workplace anymore, or excluded for promotions based on their sex – at least, not legally – but they can be and often are made to feel out-of-place and embarrassed by not being “one of the guys.”  I’ve escaped this fate through a combination of personal luck (in that I found a job where I work with nice, friendly people who wouldn’t dream of making me feel unwelcome), hockey knowledge (at least I can talk intelligently about one sport), and the fact that my co-workers also read widely and enjoy international travel, so we have other conversation topics.

But just because it hasn’t affected me (yet) doesn’t mean that sports knowledge doesn’t contribute to many women’s personal glass ceilings.  Succeeding in many professions still demands at least a certain degree of behaving as if you’re “one of the guys.”  You don’t have to put up with harassment or laugh at misogynist jokes, but there are many women who help their careers immensely by participating in sports talk at work.  Even if you’re not passionate about athletics, it can often help to learn a few sports metaphors and scan the headlines of the sports page, especially if you’re in a male-dominated profession.  Here are just a few that I’ve heard (and subsequently looked up on Wikipedia, where there are TONS of examples on the “Sports Idioms” page):

  • Moving the ball forward – making progress toward a larger goal.  (football)
  • Drop the ball – make a mistake, screw up.  (football)
  • Fumble – same thing.  (football)
  • Hail Mary – last ditch, long-shot attempt.  (football)
  • Play Monday morning quarterback – second-guess something after the fact.  (football)
  • Run interference – handle something for someone else.  (football)
  • Throw in the towel – surrender.  (boxing)
  • Wheelhouse – area of expertise (baseball)

Unfair!, you shout.  Why should I have to learn about sports when they other people don’t have to learn about my interests?  Well, I agree, it is unfair, when you put it that way, but so is life.  And you don’t have to.  Some women find learning about sports useful when it comes to climbing their career ladders; some don’t.  For many people, there comes a point in your career when advancement depends on how well you can bond with people (especially the higher-ups), even more than the quality of your work – because everyone else is just as good as you, so what really matters is whether you can fit in.  Given that, learning about a topic that lots of men and women find interesting can only help you, right?  (I found a great blog – Talk Sporty to Me – which lists a bunch that I have never heard, and more that I was wondering about.)  Still, if it’s really painful for you, then you would be better served by bonding with your co-workers over topics you both enjoy, like traveling or current events.  But know that sooner or later, you’ll probably encounter a sports metaphor or two in your career, and it can’t hurt to know what they mean.  Just think of it as moving the ball forward when it comes to your career.

 Note: I don’t usually write about topics related to the workplace, since many of them touch upon what I do for my day job.  This was just something I was thinking over and wanted to write about.  So, to be on the safe side, I’ll just say that this post represents nothing more than my own personal opinion about a topic that’s been on my mind recently.  Please don’t construe this as legal advice or the official position of my firm, because it’s not.  Over and out.

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An Unsettling “Gilmore Girls” Revelation

Sis-in-law E and I have been watching “Gilmore Girls” when we get the chance lately – which is not often, but we’re trying.  E has never seen the show, which I find all kinds of shocking.  I knew she’d love it, and she does.  (We’ve gotten as far as “Rory’s Birthday Parties” in season 1, so we’re going slowly.  She also has to catch up on “Downton Abbey” so we can all watch season 3 together as a family.)  And while we were watching recently, I had an unsettling revelation.  Here it is:

Right now, I am only one year younger than season 1 Lorelai.

WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

I started watching “Gilmore” when the third season was airing.  I was nineteen, a junior in college, and not that different from Rory – and Paris, bless her heart.  I could remember being a slightly awkward, bookish teenager with Ivy League dreams (although mine focused with laser-like intensity on Cornell, not Harvard).  In fact, I still was a bookish teenager, just a few years further into my own college journey than Rory was at the time, since season 3 is her senior year of high school.  I liked Lorelai, Sookie, Michel, Luke, Miss Patty and the rest of the townsfolk (except Taylor, of course), and Richard and Emily too (especially Richard), but I watched the show for Rory and Paris, and to a lesser extent, for Lane.  They were my contemporaries.  Rory and I read the same books.  Lane and I both liked Rilo Kiley.  Paris and I had the same neuroses.

Lorelai, meanwhile, was out of my immediate sphere.  I loved the character, of course – her determination to give her daughter the best education even though they didn’t have much money, her passionate follow-through on her dreams of starting her own business with Sookie and Michel, her cool outfits and flirty banter with Luke, her string of boyfriends (remember Jason and his crazy dog?)… but I didn’t really relate to her.

Now, watching the show all over again from the beginning, it blows my mind that Lorelai is only 32.  Dudes.  I’m 31.  I still feel younger than Lorelai – much younger.  I suppose that’s because I have taken a very different life path than the character did.  But my head just about exploded when I realized that, at this point, I have more in common with Lorelai than with Rory.

We’re both moms (but thankfully, I’m not a single mom to a teenager).  We both pay a mortgage and hold down steady jobs.  I’m not the boss, by any stretch of the imagination, the way Lorelai is.  But as the senior associate in the office, I have people coming to me to get feedback on their work, or for mentoring, which strikes me as pretty weird (until I remember that I’m 31 and I’ve been out of law school for almost seven years).  I have dreams of starting my own (non-law-related) business someday, as most lawyers do.  I don’t have to worry about Peanut driving a car or applying to colleges for awhile (although E thinks she might be starting to contemplate crawling… hoo, boy) but I have a little person depending on me to make good decisions for her and to give her a good start, much like Rory depends on Lorelai.  (Although Rory can feed herself and doesn’t need to be rocked to sleep every night; I didn’t say it was exactly the same.)

There’s no specific thesis to this post… except to say that I am totally wigged out now that I’ve realized I have more in common with Lorelai than Rory.  (This I can handle.  But if one day I discover that I have more in common with Emily than with Lorelai… well, I think my head might explode.)  But it’s also telling that this show has so much staying power with me, that I can enjoy it just as much now, as a mom in my thirties, as I did when I was a book-devouring teenager like Rory.  That’s a sign of a darn good show.

And now, because of reasons, I will conclude with my favorite quote from an immensely quotable series:

Rory: “No one reads The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire unless it’s for a class assignment.  It’s a honkin’ long book.  This is clearly a cry for help.”

Lorelai: “You’re very anti-intellectual.”

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A LONG LONG TIME AGO AND ESSENTIALLY TRUE

A Long, Long Time Ago and Essentially True…

(Source)

In the late 1930s, on top of a hill outside a Polish village called Half-Village, a young man nicknamed the Pigeon sees a beautiful girl for the first time.  He is stricken by the girl’s blonde hair, beautiful face, and the patient way she speaks to his developmentally disabled brother.  The Pigeon soon learns that the girl, who his brother calls “the Angel,” is Anielica Hetmanska, widely considered the most beautiful girl in the village – or any village, for that matter.  The Pigeon is poor and awkward, but he knows that Anielica must be his wife, so he presents himself at her father’s door and courts her using the only thing he has: his carpentry skills.  The Pigeon offers to renovate the Hetmanski family house for free and stone by stone, board by board he builds himself into Anielica’s heart and the Hetmanski family.  But World War II, and then Communism, conspire to delay the day when the Pigeon will finally call Anielica his wife – and even when that day comes, their troubles are far from over.

The story of Anielica and the Pigeon alternates with that of their granddaughter, Beata (nicknamed “Baba Yaga” after a Polish fairytale witch), who is trying to make her way in 1990s Krakow .  Baba Yaga’s Krakow is very different from the Krakow her grandparents discovered in the 1940s.  Energetic and a little frenetic, Krakow – like Baba Yaga – is deciding what it will be now that the future and the “New Poland” have arrived.  Baba Yaga drifts through her city life, buffeted on all sides by her cousin Irena, Irena’s daughter Magda, her coworker Kinga and her boss Stash, and others.  Where does Baba Yaga fit into this New Poland?  This is the question she will have to answer when tragedy strikes and a figure from the past appears without warning in her life.

Now, I would have been interested in this story no matter where it was set.  I’m all about the love-story-with-historical-background, in general.  (I’m referring to Anielica and the Pigeon, who were the stars of the book for me.  Baba Yaga gets more “airtime,” but I didn’t find her as compelling of a character as I did the Pigeon, and especially Anielica – at least, not until the end of the book, anyway.)  But being part Polish myself, I was especially interested, because I thought the book might give me some insights into that part of my heritage.  I don’t know much about Poland – I know that pierogis are delicious (and that I set kitchen fires when I try to make them); I also know that Poland gave the world amazing people like Chopin, Copernicus, and Pope John Paul II; and I’m fairly well-versed in Polish Christmas traditions.  But that’s basically it.  What I know about Polish history, I’ve mostly picked up from the occasional mention in AP Euro and more recently, from fiction (like The Winter Palace, which taught me more about the Polish government of the 1700s than history class ever did – sad, considering the entire novel was set in Imperial Russia).  Poland gets short shrift in fiction, generally, so I was happy to pick up Brigid Pasulka’s ode to the country that she loves.

And it was well worthwhile.  On top of learning more about Polish culture, history and tradition than I have from any source other than my grandmother, I loved the story.  Anielica and the Pigeon share a real, strong, beautiful love and their sad but hopeful tale was lovely to read.  Baba Yaga, too, won me over in the end (not that I ever disliked her – she just wasn’t as interesting to me).  The writing was elegant, but also rang true to the settings and the characters, and the cast of supporting characters (Anielica’s brother and his wife, Irena and Magda, Stash and Kinga, Pani Bozena, Magda’s friends…) were all well-drawn and complex.  I’ll definitely be looking for Brigid Pasulka’s next book.

A Long Long Time Ago and Essentially True, by Brigid Pasulka, available through IndieBound (not an affiliate link).

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Babyfood Diaries: Let the Wild Rumpus Start!

Big news, fellow foodies: a certain little lady is starting her gustatory journeys!  Peanut is now six months old (four months adjusted) and her pediatrician has given us the go-ahead to start introducing solid foods.  Even though we’ve known for awhile that we’d be beginning the solid food journey around now, it still snuck up on me.  The decision to start now is based on a few things: Peanut’s age is the primary factor (our pediatrician starts most kids at 4 months, but our little preemie is starting at 6 months/4 months adjusted), but the doctor also took into account our report that Peanut has been staring at our food lately.  She watches me cook and watches all three of us eat with a “you’re holding out on me” expression on her face.  Yep, she’s interested all right.  Interested, and developmentally ready, so we’re charging forward.

Now comes the part that many of you are going to say is crazy: I’ve decided to make all of her food from scratch.

Oh you are, are you?  And with what free time do you plan to do this?

I know, I know, it sounds nuts.  I don’t have a lot of spare time on my hands, it’s true, and do I really want to spend it making baby food?  Well… yes, I do.  I have a lot of reasons for wanting to make Peanut’s food from scratch, not least of which is my desire to fill her little tummy with healthy, fresh options without preservatives.  I think her food will taste better if it’s freshly prepared from ingredients chosen by her picky mama, and she’ll learn to eat fresh, whole foods from day one.  It’s also cheaper (those little jars add up, especially if you buy organic – I want Peanut to eat all organic at least for the first couple of years of her life, and it will cost me a lot less if I DIY) and better for the environment, because I’ll be able to reuse her jars and buy produce without packaging.

There’s another part of my reasoning which is, admittedly, a little bit selfish.  You see, I had to let go of a lot of things when Peanut was born two months early.  A full pregnancy, for one.  The experience of being oh-so-pregnant, which I know isn’t the most pleasant, but I didn’t have it, so.  A baby shower – mine was cancelled; I spent the day in the NICU instead.  Taking the baby home from the hospital immediately – I got to spend the next seven weeks commuting to the NICU instead, coming home to a house that seemed so empty every night.  Cloth diapering – it was something I really wanted to do, but it just seemed too overwhelming with everything else we had going on when Peanut came home from the hospital.  And there was other stuff too – like the way I have had to feed Peanut in her early days; it hasn’t been what I expected, and that’s all that I’m going to say about that.  The last of my pregnancy “expectations” was that I would make Peanut’s food from scratch and… I just don’t want to let go of this too.  I want one thing to go as planned.

So when we got the green light to start Peanut on solids, I was psyched.  I immediately started researching the best foods to start babies on – I knew I wanted to do a vegetable, not rice cereal, which doesn’t have any added nutrition for her (the only benefit is iron, but she gets plenty of that from formula), and I decided to go with sweet potato.  I looked at dedicated baby food makers like the Beaba Babycook and decided to use what I already have in my kitchen (a pot, a food processer, and a Vitamix) and see how that goes, and I stocked up on OXO Tot puree cubes and silicone spoons, plus two cookbooks that should take Peanut into her toddler years.

I’m so excited for this step!  I hope that my making Peanut’s purees (we’re also going to dabble in a bit of baby-led weaning, at the pediatrician’s advice, but I’m planning to wait to start that until she’s bigger) will set her up for a lifetime of enjoying fresh, healthy foods.  Next week – sweet potatoes, a recipe, and some hilarious photos.

Let the wild rumpus start!

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In Which I Ponder Genre-Bending

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Like many readers, I love to look back at what I’ve read over the course of a month, a year, or even more.  (There are other readers who do this, right?  Please tell me I’m not the only one.)  I make lists in my email and on my blog, I track my reads on Goodreads, I assign book superlatives, and I make pie charts. 

When I sat down to look over my 2012 books and make my pie charts, I spent a lot of time agonizing over what genres to assign to certain books.  (Yes, I said agonizing.  I realize that’s melodramatic, and I don’t care.)  Here’s the chart I ended up with for my fiction books:

Download Your Pie Chart

It’s likely no one would notice or remark upon this next fact except for me, but: the chart shows that I only read one historical fiction book in 2012.  That would be Elizabeth I, by Margaret George (which was fabulous, by the way).  But Elizabeth I is not the only hi-fi I read in 2012.  I’ve always been one to read books set in other time periods, and 2012 was no exception.  So why does my pie chart say I only read one hi-fi book last year?  Well, because the chart only shows what I considered the “primary” genre of each book, and poor hi-fi got stripped as those books dropped more neatly into other genres.  Like what, for instance?  Well, there were the Maisie Dobbs books, which were set in the late 1920s in London and which relied heavily on historical detail to inform their storylines.  They’re mysteries, so they slotted into the mystery genre, but I could easily make a case for them as historical fiction.  Then there were books like The Snow Child, by Eowyn Ivey, and Wolf Hall and Bring Up The Bodies by Hilary Mantel, which were certainly historical fiction (The Snow Child is about early Alaskan settlers, and the Wolf Hall novels are set during the reign of Henry VIII) but their strong prose pushed them into the literary fiction category.  (Hmmm, now that I’m thinking about it, Elizabeth I was very well-written, too.  Should I have called that lit-fic and completely raided the hi-fi category?  And what makes something lit-fic instead of general fiction or hi-fi, anyway, and who decides?  These are the things that keep me up at night.)  Then there were books like The Hobbit, which could have been considered children’s lit (or fantasy, a genre which didn’t even make it onto my chart) but instead landed in classics, a genre that tends to be whatever people say it is.  Or the Fairacre books, which could have populated a genre of gentle fiction, but instead got plopped into classics, too – because I say so.

I realize that this pie chart is not important to anyone but me.  But it’s fun for me to look back and see what I read the previous year, and I like my reads to be neatly organized.  Cross-referencing genres, or thinking about how I should have cross-referenced genres, really drives home the point that I read a lot of genre-benders.  And this past month has been a perfect example of that.  While I was flying through The Midwife’s Tale – for example – I stopped to scratch my head and wonder whether I would categorize it as a mystery (since it is a murder mystery with a classic whodunit plot) or historical fiction (since the setting of York in 1644 is so important to the plot, and so richly detailed too).  I’ll probably call it a mystery, but then, there’s an argument the other way too.  And there was The Song of Achilles – hi-fi, clearly, since it’s set during the Trojan War, but the beautiful, alluring, almost poetic prose is certainly going to tip the scales in favor of this one going in the lit-fic bucket.  And poor hi-fi gets raided again.  Then there’s the Lord of the Rings trilogy, which I’m working my way through (I’ve already read the first two this year) – fantasy?  Or classic?  On balance, I think classic.  But again, a case could be made in the opposite direction.

When I’m not lying awake at night debating these things because my life is apparently too easy, I’m pretty happy to be reading all of these genre-benders.  A mystery with strong historical fiction elements?  A lit-fic offering that nods to an age-old classic?  A classic fantasy?  How could I go wrong with any of these?  I’m not going to stop reading genre-benders anytime soon.  I’m having too much fun with these books that pick and choose from among different genres and refuse to be pigeonholed.  And at the end of the year… well, I guess I’ll have to come up with some system for cross-referencing.

This may call for more pie charts.  Oh, darn.

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Peanut’s Picks: A BOOK OF SLEEP

Peanuts Picks Lets Read

Okay, adults, are you ready to talk about a very sad, sad book today?  Get your tissue box ready, because I mean this book is SAD.  I cry every time my mom reads me this book.  Because it’s so sad.

(Source)

The reason that this book is so sad is that at first you think it’s about a triumph of the human owlish spirit.  What happens is, it’s nighttime and everyone goes to sleep except for the owl.  I don’t know why but the owl doesn’t have a naptime or a bedtime or anything, which is SO COOL MOMMY.  Maybe the owl’s mom is just cooler than my mom.  Anyway, it’s night and instead of going to bed the owl PLAYS, OMG MOMMY.  She flies by all these other babies animals and they are all sleeping like chumps.  And the owl just says HA HA YOU GUYS YOU ARE SUCH LOSERS WITH BEDTIMES LOL.

I know what you’re thinking: what is sad about this?  This owl is the luckiest baby owl in the entire world, with NO BEDTIME MOMMY.  The baby owl probably had a bedtime once but she perservered and won and now she has NO BEDTIME MOMMY.  So that’s what pulls you in and makes you think that this is an inspirational book about a baby owl who beat all the odds and got rid of bedtime, which obviously we are all trying to do.

But then.  But then!  I don’t mean to give away the ending but I’m going to give away the ending.  What happens is that all the other animals wake up and the owl FALLS ASLEEP.  I know what you’re thinking: WUT?!?!?!?!  You are so inspiring to me, owl, or you were until you fell victim to NAPTIME.  What is that about?  I don’t know why, but I keep forgetting what happens and getting excited because someone finally BEAT THE NASTY BEDTIME and then the owl just falls asleep and I am crushed all over again by the tragedy of it all.

My mom really likes this book.  She likes the pictures and she likes showing me where the owl is (I humor her by looking because it seems really important to her) and she thinks that it’s some kind of relaxing book that is going to make me go to sleep.  Make me have nightmares, is what I say.  Nightmares about BEDTIME and NAPTIME and THINKING YOU HAVE OVERCOME BUT THEN YOU HAVEN’T OMG SO SAD.  But it is kind of funny that my mom thinks that this book will make me go to sleep.  She keeps on reading it and she likes to read it in a very soft voice that she thinks is soothing but really it just fills me with righteous anti-bedtime rage.  I know there are other babies whose parents are probably doing the same thing, so I would just like to say LOL, ADULTS, stop reading this book because if you really think this is going to put babies to sleep then I want some of whatever is in your bottle.

Lesson for parents: LOL this is a joke, right?

Also: I will never nap I will never nap I will never nap I will never…

Sleeping Angel

Psst, buy the book here if you must, but DOWN WITH BEDTIME.

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THE SONG OF ACHILLES

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller(Source)

What can I say, to convey how wonderful The Song of Achilles was?  “This and this and this!”

The Song of Achilles stars Patroclus, a peripheral character in The Iliad.  When the story opens, Patroclus is an unhappy, shy young prince.  His father feels nothing but scorn and disappointment toward him, his mother barely knows him, and the sons of the nobles of his father’s court bully him.  Patroclus’s only joy comes from wandering alone and playing with a pair of dice – until he accidentally kills one of the boys that bully him, and he is exiled to King Peleus’ court in the land of Phthia, and his life really begins.  The prince of Phthia is a young boy, about the same age as Patroclus, but who represents everything Patroclus knows he will never be – golden, handsome, gifted, athletic, popular, son of a goddess.  Even Patroclus’s own father says that the prince of Phthia is “what a son should be.”  So when golden Prince Achilles notices Patroclus, befriends him, and makes him a constant companion, Patroclus is – at first – overawed.  Still, he soon learns to see Achilles for what he truly is – a kind, unassuming boy who loves music, who won’t fight in front of other people because he’s too good.  Patroclus and Achilles become best friends and, eventually, they become lovers.  But then word comes that Helen of Sparta has been snatched from her husband by the impudent Prince Paris of Troy, and the kingdoms of Greece must unite to bring her back.  This is Achilles’ moment, as Aristos Achaion – the “best of the Greeks” – he is to play the starring role in this war that he didn’t start and with which he wants nothing to do.  And of course, Patroclus goes with him.

I’ve never read The Iliad, but I understand that the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus, who is only a peripheral character is Homer’s text, has been a source of speculation and questioning for centuries.  My sister-in-law read The Iliad for an English class and the theory that Achilles and Patroclus were lovers was mentioned, but not explored.  This is the theory that Madeline Miller takes on in The Song of Achilles, because it is Patroclus who sets in motion the events that bring about the beginning of the end of the Trojan War – and why Patroclus?  What was it about Patroclus that spurred Achilles to the climax of his own story?  It’s never explained in The Iliad, but Miller’s take that the two were lovers rings very true, perhaps thanks to the internal logic of the story or perhaps thanks to her lovely writing.

Yes, the writing is superb.  The Song of Achilles reads like a classic of ages, even thought it was only published last year.  There are parts that are more like poetry than a novel.  “This and this and this!”  I could taste the figs, feel the sand of the Trojan beach under my feet, smell the cooking fires in the Myrmidons’ camp, hear the jangling of Briseis’ bracelets and the screams of dying men on the battlefield.  Miller makes you believe every word.  She makes you buy in, wholly and completely, to Achilles and Patroclus and their love.  She tugs at your heartstrings and she astounds you with beautiful, perfectly-crafted sentences and a plot that marches inexorably forward toward destruction and tragedy.

It was all just so beautiful.  That’s all I can say.  “This and this and this!”  And now I’m going to have to read The Iliad.

The Song of Achilles, by Madeline Miller – buy it here!  (Not an affiliate link.)

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Reading Round-Up: February 2013

Reading is my oldest and favorite hobby.  I literally can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t love to curl up with a good book.  Here are my reads for February, 2013…

A Light in the Window, by Jan Karon (Mitford Years #2) – I read the first book in this “gentle fiction” series last February when life was a little bit overwhelming and it seemed like a good idea to pick it up again after a couple of weeks back at work, and I read it on the plane for my first business trip since returning from maternity leave.  I wasn’t over-thrilled with it, but I’m still keeping an open mind on the series since I’ve heard that it gets better and better.  Much of the time, I was just irritated by Father Tim’s constant dithering about his neighbor – I wanted to shake him and shout “MAN UP!”  The only characters I really enjoyed were the Mayor and Miss Sadie, both of whom are peripheral to the series.  I’m not declaring myself “done” with Mitford, but like last February, I’m going to save the next book for when I get overwhelmed.

 Village Centenary, by Miss Read (Chronicles of Fairacre #15) – Fifteen books into this series, every time I open a Fairacre book these days I feel as though I’m getting a breath of fresh, clean air.  Katie sent me this book some time ago and I sat on it (not literally) because I like to read a series in order (after I idiotically read the first four Harry Potter novels #1 – #4 – #2 – #3 and ruined all kinds of surprises for myself).  This was one of my favorite Fairacre novels.  The village school is turning one hundred years old and Miss Read, as headmistress, is in charge of the celebrations.  With the help of Miss Clare, the new infants’ teacher Miss Briggs, and a host of townspeople, Miss Read will throw the birthday party of the century – literally.  Meanwhile, the school is getting a new skylight and there are rumors that Holly Lodge might be sold and tenant Miss Quinn turned out of her home.  As with all Fairacre novels, the plots wrap up with warmth and good grace.

 Mrs Queen Takes the Train, by William Kuhn – I love reading authors’ imaginative takes on Queen Elizabeth’s inner workings (The Uncommon Reader was my first foray and still a favorite) and Mrs Queen was delightful.  Queen Elizabeth, facing the decommissioning of the royal train, sinks into a bit of malaise and fancies a trip up to Leith to visit the royal yacht, Britannica.  Disguised in a hoodie, she slips out of Buckingham Palace and boards a train.  “Mrs Queen” might be the centerpiece, but the real drama in the story comes with the cast of six different individuals – a dresser, a lady-in-waiting, a butler, an equerry, a stable girl and a cheese shop clerk – who band together in a strange alliance to track the Queen down and bring her back before anyone else notices she’s missing.  A fun, sweet and touching romp.  (And bonus – I tweeted #fridayreads that I was reading Mrs Queen over a salad one Friday lunch hour, and got a charming tweet back from the author, which is always fun.) 

The Two Towers, by J.R.R. Tolkien (Lord of the Rings #2) – I’m continuing to work my way through the Lord of the Rings trilogy (I set a goal to do this before my next birthday) and this second installment was a lot of fun.  The excitement and drama are definitely building up to fever pitch after the somewhat slow-ish start to the series in The Fellowship of the Ring (I’m not complaining – I’m perfectly fine with slow plots if the writing, character development and atmosphere are good, and wow, were they ever).  When the novel opens, Merry and Pippin have been kidnapped by a band of raiding orcs, and Aragorn is leading Legolas and Gimli in a chase across Rohan to try to rescue the hobbits (who prove more resourceful than one might have anticipated).  Meanwhile, Frodo and Sam are still trudging toward Mordor to destroy the Ring, helped along the way by an unlikely guide.  The end of the book had me turning pages at record speed, racing ahead to find out what happens.

 A Long Long Time Ago and Essentially True, by Brigid Pasulka – In a tiny Polish village called Half-Village, a young man called the Pigeon falls in love with a young woman, Anielica, “the Angel,” and courts her with the only thing he has to set him apart from her other suitors: his “golden hands.”  The Pigeon presents himself at Anielica’s door and offers to renovate her house at no charge.  Stone by stone, board by board, he builds himself into Anielica’s heart and family – but World War II and Communism delay their marriage.  Fifty years later, their granddaughter Beata (called “Baba Yaga” after the nasty witch of Polish legend, because she’s so unattractive) tries to find her path in 1990s Krakow, in a Poland that’s deciding – much like she herself is – what it will be now that the future has arrived.  I loved, loved, LOVED the story of Anielica and the Pigeon and would have been perfectly happy to read an entire book just about them.  I did feel empathy for Baba Yaga and her story drew me in at the end, but it was Anielica and the Pigeon who were the real stars of this book.  Lovely, evocative writing and an ending that is both sad and hopeful.  Highly recommended.

 Summer at Fairacre, by Miss Read (Chronicles of Fairacre #16) – It’s the best season of the year in Fairacre.  The downs are a riot of color, the sun is beating down on a very warm, very happy Miss Read, and everyone has a little extra spring in their step.  Miss Read has plenty to bring her joy this season – not least of all, the wedding of infants’ teacher Miss Briggs.  But no season is without its troubles.  Young Joe Coggs has taken up residence in the schoolhouse while his mother is hospitalized; local ornithologist Mr. Mawne is lonely and is annoying Miss Read and Miss Quinn with his attentions while his wife is away; and most disconcerting of all, Miss Read’s good friend Amy has disappeared.  Plenty of drama kept me turning pages, and the descriptions of summer in Fairacre kept the winter blues at bay during a February cold snap.

 The Midwife’s Tale, by Sam Thomas – Another page-turner (I’ve had some good ones this month).  It’s 1644 and the city of York , held by the King, is surrounded by the rebel armies of Parliament.  Lady Bridget Hodgson, the midwife of the tale, is doing her best to attend to the city’s mothers despite the siege when she receives distressing news – her good friend, Esther Cooper, has been accused of murdering her husband and is destined for the stake.  Convinced that Esther is innocent, Lady Bridget sets out to find the real killer.  She is joined by Martha, a housemaid with a checkered past, and together they must untangle the web of political intrigue that surrounds Cooper’s death.  The Midwife’s Tale could get quite violent in parts, but I never felt the violence was gratuitous (a complaint I’ve had with other historical fiction, such as The Pillars of the Earth) – in this case, it simply rang true to the times and added to the story, which is all I ask.  Some of the plot twists were a little obvious, but I’m glad to say that the resolution to the main mystery surprised me (and the clues were there, so it wasn’t a case of the author dropping only red herrings and then making the reader feel like an idiot by “revealing” the true culprit without any buildup in the story – a whodunit pet peeve of mine).  I appreciated the historical details and will definitely be seeking out more by this author.

Mrs Pringle of Fairacre, by Miss Read (Chronicles of Fairacre #17) – Mrs Pringle is one of those characters that we love to hate.  Grouchy and dour by nature, she is nonetheless a fixture in Fairacre and the town – and school – wouldn’t be the same without her.  Her verbal sparring matches with Miss Read, Mr Willet, and everyone else in town are some of my favorite Fairacre scenes, and her devotion to the school stoves is touchingly comic.  In this enjoyable interlude, Miss Read looks back on the history of her own long war with Mrs Pringle, complete with reminiscences by other villagers, which go far to explain why Mrs Pringle is the way she is.  Since the “old misery” is one of my favorite characters in the series, I had fun with this one.

 The Song of Achilles, by Madeline Miller – After seeing this on Booklust, I knew I was going to have to check out this re-imagining of Homer’s The Iliad.  Patroclus, a peripheral character in The Iliad, becomes the central focus as The Song of Achilles explores his relationship with the Greek hero.  I enjoyed the entire book, but the ending was mind-blowing.  I was flipping pages at furious speeds and wiping away tears.  That’s all I’ll say for now – full review coming next week.

The Scarlet Pimpernel, by Baroness Emmuska Orczy – What a fun romp this was!  The year is 1792 and amidst the bloodbath in Paris, there is one shadowy figure who seems to flit in and out of France, plucking aristocrats practically out of the jaws of the guillotine – and doing so with style and “demned” cheek, I should say.  That figure is the Scarlet Pimpernel, a “swashbuckling rescuer of aristocrats.”  By day he is Sir Percy Blakeney, icon of the stylish Briton, London man-about-town, and widely regarded by everyone to be a funny, but lazy, moron.  Sir Percy’s mask is so opaque that even his own wife, Marguerite, can’t see through it.  So when a former acquaintence, and a member of the bloodthirsty Committee for Public Safety, presents her with the option of helping him track the Scarlet Pimpernel or lose her brother, who has been helping aristocrats to escape, she feels a little badly about the gallant stranger but there’s no question – she’ll save her brother.  Until she realizes that by capitulating, she has unwittingly sent her husband into a trap.  It’s up to Marguerite to warn Percy before it’s too late!  I don’t know why I waited so long to read this.  Fun, hilarious, and quite the page turner (warning: it was a little racist in parts, but take into account the fact that it was written in 1902).  I’m glad I finally made the time for The Scarlet Pimpernel – it’s well worth a read.

What a February!  Excuse me while I pat myself on the back, because I’m really happy with the reading I did this month.  (And yes, I do congratulate myself for making the time to do something I really enjoy.  It’s not always easy.)  I had a couple of page-turners this month – The Two Towers, The Midwife’s Tale, and The Song of Achilles come to mind – and the Fairacre books are always quick reads.  So that accounts, to an extent, for my extravagant book total this month.  But for a short month, I don’t care what gets me there – I’m psyched that I was able to read so much, and so many books that I really enjoyed.  The Song of Achilles was the highlight of the month, but The Scarlet Pimpernel was fantastic too, and Mrs Queen, The Two Towers, A Long Long Time Ago, and the Fairacre visits kept me happily turning pages, too.  Plenty of reading, AND I enjoyed all of it?  Recipe for a good month, indeed.